Serendipity
by difficile
Summary: The turquoise agate held fast by lackluster metal was a diamond in the rough, no different than the life Vaan found himself living that very moment, surrounded by friends and a new pact of trust. A series of Vaan drabbles of his past, present, and future.


_**Author's notes:**_ This was totally meant to be a 50 prompt one-sentence drabble thing, but it certainly evolved into mini-fics of their own; naturally, I didn't get to fifty. I am leaving this incomplete, however, because I love Vaan so much, and want to keep writing just about him, that I might continue with these themes.

Yeah, so if some of you know me, you know I'm a huge Vaan lover, and I have my resons and well-thought-out defense retorts for anyone who doesn't like him. I hear the same excuses over and over again, and it makes me so BLARGHHH.

Anyway, another tribute to my favorite FF character! _FFXII I own not_.

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**serendipity.**

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crestfallen.

When Vaan was six, he received a blanket for his birthday from his parents; it wasn't until he found out it was made from the fur of a baby coeurl did he insist he wanted it no longer. Now, at the prime age of seventeen, sometimes he wishes nothing more than to have kept that blanket, just as a shred of a reminder of what he once had.

fruit.

There was a secluded spot amidst the golden expanse of the Westersand that housed a tree, a tree that was rooted so doggedly into the ground that no drought or sandstorm could ever hope to fell it. Through the crevices and jagged rocks of this desert Vaan ventured years ago, when dreams of sky piracy never were apparent in his mind and only the silly games of Lowtown and paranoia of cooties were his firm beliefs. It was when he dragged his eyes up the spiraling bark and to the gnarling branches did he notice a swaying starfruit, and beyond that the crisp blue of a world anew. It was then that Vaan's tongue suddenly did not water for tangible nectar; his blue eyes blinked and, with the help of his trusty dagger, he somehow managed to climb the outstretched arms of that nature-defying tree.

He felt closer to the sky at the top of the trunk, but it only fueled a new fire set aflame. Serendipity was just as bitter as the rotten fruit.

night.

It was always night in Lowtown, even when the sun dappled through the dilapidated roof that was the ground of so many others. It was always dark and mysterious, one nook that a man swore he knew yesterday now would be infested with ruins or housed the lurking form of a thief, a murderer, an incognito criminal the next. Vaan became a child of the night, a leader of the darkness that not only enshrouded the poor excuse for a home, but the uncertainty that furled about the beings of his friends, his makeshift siblings, the orphans of Rabanastre.

Night was all he knew, even in the sun, even when his bronzed skin suggested otherwise. Night was all Vaan ever cared to know, night was home.

windy.

Vaan watched the white sails wave a gnarling farewell as they became smaller and smaller on the glass-like surface of Valendia's sea, and wondered if the taste of the ocean was anything like that of the sky. Sometimes he'd see a jogging pirate bound down the docks of Balfonheim, so massive in bulk and muscle, so startlingly contrastive to Balthier, Fran, Rikken or even Reddas, that it was practically spelled out that the man belonged on the rough crests of the ocean. It required such different work, after all - manning the flapping sails with force instead of the mere flick of a switch and press of a button; screaming above the splash of the storm instead of speaking calmly into an intercom device; soaked to the bone by salt and water instead of safe inside an airship's confines.

Vaan wondered if he could ever be a pirate of the sea, but then he looks to the sky again and finds his resistance waning. Yes, some are born for the sea. But he was born for the clouds.

game.

To pass time as a child, Vaan had purposely wandered from the confines of Rabanastre and the slackening eye of his babysitter _Reks_, to chase cockatrices through the Estersand. It had been his favorite thing to do on days Reks was more than content staying _inside_, of all darn places, and soon it had become a regular hobby. The plump, waddling creatures had always flocked by the shady crannies of the desert, where it was easy to stay active and filled with stamina while chasing them. Of course, Vaan had always returned absolutely wiped out and covered in feathers by sundown, but that had never stopped the foolish smile adorning his face whenever he had chosen to sell those feathers at the bazaar for a pretty penny and buy chocobo-shaped candy all for himself.

...And now, as he runs through the Estersand alongside Baltheir and Penelo, he finds his steps tracing stubbornly the forked-shaped ones of the cockatrices so obviously out of his way; it isn't until Penelo slaps him upside the head that Vaan realizes that yes, old habits die hard.

tea.

"Echinacea?" Vaan repeated, his congested words stumbling at the unfamiliaity. Balthier merely rolled his eyes and shoved the tea in his hands, purposely ignoring how the hot liquid spilled onto Vaan's skin. "It smells awful!" the blond complained after taking a tentative sniff. The Archadian opposite him crossed his arms and gave him a melodramatic roll of the eyes.

"Pinch your nose and down it; I've not the time nor patience to handle your complaints. If you recall, this was your fault to begin with," the sky pirate replied, and Vaan bit his lip._ I didn't get sick on purpose_, he thought, and, without any further hesitation, downed the tea in the small porcelain cup.

"It tastes like–" Vaan started as he blanched, the herbs crawling back up his throat. Balthier put up a hand to silence him.

"Spare me your similes, if you please," Balthier snapped. "You've four more cups to go and we're one-third through."

Vaan felt himself die a bit on the inside.

blue.

Many people wondered how Vaan attainted the beautiful stones embedded in his armor and vest-clasp; after all, he was a mere thief of a conquered nation, forced to scrounge for food by pickpocketing - it was a mystery even to Migelo how Vaan donned such rare stones. The turquoise agate was certainly a commodity of his otherwise unflattering garb, and throughout his journey with his five comrades, people stopped him to ask about them.

"They were gifts," he'd always explain vaguely, the discomfort at the question poorly masked in his eyes - why _did _people wonder? The stones were his prized possessions, a part of him and not just his armor. It was no one's business how he got those stones, and although Vaan's answer was repetitive and general, it was honest all the same.

It wasn't until a gentry in Archades stopped Vaan on the side of the street in Tsenoble, of all districts, did Vaan blow a fuse.

"You, boy!" his choppy accent relating that of Balthier's made Vaan and the rest of the group stop. Vaan blinked once and narrowed his eyes as a middle-aged man, at least ten years older than Basch, marched up to him with the same presumptuous swagger Balthier had - no matter how much the pirate denied it, he was every bit an Archadian as everyone else there.

"What?" Vaan asked skeptically, using no boundaries to keep the harshness out of his voice; save for Balthier, he still detested all Archadians and forever would. The man with the slicked black hair stopped far enough away that it was obvious he wanted nothing close to do with such an obvious lower-class hume.

"Your jewels there. Turquoise agate, a rare stone around Ivalice - name your price."

The six travelers were silent, several pairs of eyes locked on Vaan's rigid form. Vaan's gaze hovered over the man condescendingly, having no effect on the high-class gentry of the Empire until the blond spoke.

"Take your frilly outfit, bratty children and pocket full of gaudy gil, and get out of my sight. Nothing in the world could buy these," Vaan seethed, and even Penelo's eyes widened with everyone else's at the unbridled detestation so clear in the Rabanastran's voice. The older Archadian across from Vaan stiffened, narrowing his almond eyes.

"Very well then, churl. Your loss," and with that, the gentry turned on his heel and strolled off, leaving Vaan's fists still clenched and the rest of the party rendered frozen. No one elaborated on Vaan's response to that exchange until that evening, around the camp set up by Sochen. And of all the people Vaan thought would approach him on the subject, Fran was certainly not one of them.

"It was your mother, was it not, who gave you those?" she asked softly when everyone was asleep. Vaan turned, startled at the Viera's spot-on assumption.

"How did you know?" he asked, the stunned bewilderment in his voice clear.

Fran was quiet for a while, staring into the fire. Her long ear twitched moments later as she began to speak. "Twenty years past, when I was merely a fledgling to piracy, I obtained a treasure not far from Rabanastre that did not suit my interests. In need of gil, I wandered into a nomad camp where a hume woman with golden hair no different than yours offered me wares for the large stone. We parted ways, soon after, and it was not until later did I realize the mistake I had made - agate, the treasure I had found in Zertinian, is the rarest stone in all of Ivalice, 'twould have brought me much more than just a simple bow and arrow kit if I'd wandered just into the bazaar."

Vaan listened intently, grabbing every single word and cursing the crackling fire for its noise throughout the viera's musing. Twenty years ago... his mother was probably pregnant with Reks around then, and Vaan barely recalled his mother recounting her own adventures as a traveling nomad when she had told him bedtime stories. His eyes widened a fraction - Fran had known his mother! Tears prickled the corners of his eyes and he smiled.

"My mom ripped you off," the words bubbled past Vaan's lips in a soft chuckle, and Fran's own lips stretched into the most minuscule grin at the memory.

"Indeed, though I'm sure it wasn't her intention, as much as you'd like to think. She passed it on to you, I see, made it into something useful."

Vaan nodded once, his eyes on the licking flames of the campfire. The smile on his face never faltered - the stones adorning his armor and clasp were everything to him, a symbol of his mother, a traveling jeweler, his father, a struggling armorist, and of his brother who the set was made for to begin with until his baby brother Vaan came along and it was passed down. The blue agate held fast by lackluster metal was a diamond in the rough, no different than the life Vaan found himself living that very moment, surrounded by new friends and a new pact of trust.

"Your mother," Fran started again softly, "she had your eyes - blue, like the agate."

And Vaan could only nod once, his fingers tracing the weathering stones that matched the color of summer's sky.

heat.

Bhujerba is closer to the sun, Vaan remembers as he walks through the cobblestone streets of the skycity - that is why he is sweating so profusely. All around him there are new words being muttered - raksas, bhadra, hanta; these new words unnerve him despite his interest in learning a new language. Sweat tumbles down the back of his neck as he runs through the unfamiliar streets and wagers that, if he was truly lost, he'd find himself falling from the sky.

It is when the heat and lack of hydration gets the best of Vaan that he decides to mosey into the nearest tavern; he is reassured to find the familiar sign outside a building and he enters the air-conditioned place with a sigh. A new scent permeates the room, one tinged with alcohol and a sweetness Vaan does not know. His eyes wander about the premise and he spots a seat at the bar, uncertainty written clearly on his face. A Bangaa bartender notices the new customer and saunters over, polishing a glass as he greets him.

"What'll you have, bhadra?" the scaly creature asks, and Vaan resists to ask what in seven hells that word means before he replies.

"Anything to cool me down - it's hot here."

This comment earned a hearty laugh from the bangaa, who placed his bottle down and patted Vaan on the head. "My eyes may be poor, bhadra, but I can see you've the tan of a desert-child."

Vaan shrugged uncomfortably. "Bhujerba's...closer to the sun," he tries to make an excuse for his intolerance to the new heat.

The beady-eyed bangaa grinned toothily at Vaan and winked, his earrings clinking together at the overdone gesture. "Aye, but the desert is far closer to hell."

Being stuck in the middle isn't so bad, Vaan decides, as he considers the bangaa's words so cynically true.

music.

_The Galbana _sang a song with her low engine murmur that reminded Vaan vaguely of the lullabies his mother had whispered to him in the midst of Rabanastre's darkest nights so long ago. When Vaan flew his tangible pride and joy through the skies, his ears rang and tingled pleasantly - the Galbana had such a way with words, he thought; she would chuckle as she dashed through the clouds, sigh as she climbed the skies, and sing when she took off from the landing platform. She was nothing like the Strahl, she was far smaller and shaped not for quick getaways or combat, but rather for leisure; certainly not why Vaan had bought an airship to begin with, but the Galbana had been a convenient buy - a gift, almost, and she was incredibly fast for a modern leisure craft...her speed, actually, could best that of the Strahl, but that was about it.

That was all Vaan needed - her song was worth everything it when he soared the sky on his own pair of silver wings.

pompous.

Vaan's face had changed from the age of seventeen to twenty, more drastically than most boys matured in a matter of three years - though to be quite fair, Vaan had been stuck with childish features for a very long time until, finally, one day he looked in the mirror and noticed the subtle but ever-present changes on his face. No longer did he have such a round face; proper cheekbones had developed over the years, framing a now adult face. His hair was long and wavy, ever bleached by the sun and gathered by an array of outlandishly dyed hemp and tossed in front of one shoulder - he was hoping for dreds one of these days, despite Penelo's discouragement. His skin was still tan despite the shortened days he spent in the sun, now shaded by the roof of his airship or culprit hideaway.

Yes, he was going on his second year as a sky pirate, a cultured and cunning young _man_. And unbeknownst to Vaan himself, his physical attributes were not the only things that had changed throughout the years.

It wasn't until Penelo pointed out the new changes that Vaan began to realize them with a certain tinge of chagrin. He and his navigator spent leisure hours amidst the charming province of Rozzarria, hosted shortly by the ever-amusing and handsome presence of prince Al-Cid Margrace ("_Vaan, stop staring_!" Penelo had nudged him several times in the side and whispered hotly to him whenever she spotted Vaan's eyes trained on the prince for too long - he was a pirate, dammit, he could take what he wanted...). But after the shared laughs and tales of reminisce, they had parted ways and, once off the palace grounds, Penelo nudged Vaan again.

"You really didn't hold back there," she mused, rolling her eyes with a grin. Vaan blinked and looked up to the stars ornamenting the night sky.

"Whaddya mean?" he asked, lacing his fingers together and holding his head back.

"You're turning into Balthier, I'm telling you!" Penelo chimed in a sing-song voice, skipping once and getting ahead of Vaan before turning on her pretty dancer heel and giving him a playful glare. Vaan stopped mid-step and quirked a brow.

"Like I said, whaddya mean? I'm Vaan the sky pirate. Not Balthier the pompous– "

"And here's we're you're wrong!" Penelo suddenly interjected, strolling up and poking Vaan in the chest, right where his pendant ended and the material of his collared shirt started. "If I had one gil for every time you chose to brag in front of Al-Cid–"

"I-I wasn't bragging!" the taller blond retorted. "I was just telling him–"

"How amazing you are and how naughty you've been and how many laws you've broken? What were you trying to do, impress Al-Cid?"

Vaan's cheeks tinted at the accusation and he cleared his throat. "I don't have to try to impress people," he stated simply. Penelo rolled her eyes.

"See? Look at you, Vaan! C'mere," she suddenly started, grabbing his bangle-clad wrist and dragging him to the nearest reflecting pool lining the border property of the palace. Torch light danced against the water and Penelo grabbed the back of Vaan's head, pushing it towards the glassy surface. "Just look. You've changed."

With a miffed expression, Vaan gazed down into the black water of the reflecting pool. "My eyebrows look better," he commented, and Penelo groaned. It wasn't until a few moments later that Vaan suddenly realized what she was getting at. "...Ohhhh," he breathed, straightening back up and fiddling with his bangles in the same subconscious fashion Balthier used to do with his cuffs.

"See?"

Vaan shrugged uncomfortably. "So I guess I have changed," he said softly. "Is it...is it bad?" he asked, suddenly unsure of his past actions. Penelo offered him an understanding smile and tugged at his mid-length hair, so short compared to her long, flowy braids that swung to her ankles almost.

"No, Vaan. Not really - It's just, I'd be the first to notice, you know? I've known you for so long, I've watched you grow–"

"Enough, enough! Okay?" Vaan interrupted, shying from her at the maternal tone he anticipated. Penelo _always_ got like that. His irritation only earned a giggle from his friend and again they began their trek back to the Aerodrome, their step in tune with each other's.

"...So it's not too bad?" Vaan asked again, and Penelo shook her head.

"No. Not really. You just need to work on your wooing skills - you can't plan to seduce Al-Cid with the way you tell stories that aren't even interesting to begin with!" she teased, jumping away as Vaan lunged for her.

"Leave me alone! He seemed interested!" Vaan bit back, trying to hide the mortification in his voice.

"Not so pompous now, eh, great sky pirate Vaan _Rrrrratsbane_?" she snorted, easily dodging her friend's semi-violent advances with graceful twists and turns.

The years had turned him into someone different; someone he never really thought he'd be, someone he always had wished he'd be. And now he was, indeed, the Great Sky Pirate Vaan Ratsbane, only not Ratsbane, because that was _silly. _What would Balthier think of that? Or worse, Al-Cid?

"What about Vaan Enabstar?" Vaan muttered aloud, and Penelo had to stop in her tracks to quirk a brow at him. "It's Ratsbane backwards," Vaan commented after noting her perplexed expression.

"Sounds like the name of a poet, or a scientist or something weird," Penelo mulled, and Vaan agreed.

"So...just Vaan?"

"Just Vaan," the pirate nodded once with a smile. There was charm in simplicity, and overcompensation in a long, drawn out last name. And he didn't need to overcompensate.

He was Vaan the sky pirate, and he had enough for _everybody_.

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